Sonderkommando: Diario di un crematorio di Auschwitz, 1944

by Załmen Gradowski, Philippe Mesnard (editor), Carlo Saletti (editor)

Il Sonderkommando, la squadra speciale di detenuti ebrei obbligati a lavorare nelle camere a gas e nei crematori di Auschwitz-Birkenau, ha in Salmen Gradowski il suo maggiore testimone. Scritto molto probabilmente nella primavera del 1944, questo diario è il primo documento pubblicato che racconta il cuore della terribile esperienza dello sterminio degli ebrei all’interno dei lager tedeschi, destinati a distruggere l’intero popolo ebraico dell’Europa e coloro che nel progetto nazista di Nuovo Ordine Europeo non avrebbero mai avuto il diritto alla vita. Gradowski scrisse con la morte addosso, per raccontarci di uomini che sono riusciti a resistere al male anche grazie al pensiero di poter consegnare ai vivi la loro storia disperata, vincendo per sempre l’oblio.

Genres: History, Nonfiction, Holocaust, World War II, Biography, Memoir, Judaism

224 pages, Paperback

Published January 1, 2002

About the author

Załmen Gradowski (1910 - 1944) – polski więzień obozu Auschwitz-Birkenau pochodzenia żydowskiego, jeden z organizatorów buntu Sonderkommando w Krematorium IV z 1944 roku. Autor odnalezionych i wydanych po wojnie relacji.

Reviews

[Lord Zion · Rating 5 out of 5]

Of all the books on the subject I have read, this has to be the one that affected me the most.

I actually purchased this from the Auschwitz Museum a couple of weeks ago, which probably adds some weight to my feelings, but, beyond that, the fact that it is a contemporary account done by a man who knew his job ended in execution makes it harrowing.

Poetic in style, it is repetative which hammers home the message. Zalmen delves deep into the minds and emotions of the pitying souls that surround him. This is not an after-the-event account where time has dimmed the feelings, this is as it is happening.

His story ties in with others I have read on the subject and it is nice to tie the threads together. It is also interesting to read how the camp was perceived at the time by those in it, rather than later on once all the facts were known. It is only through piecing together all of the testimonials that the real truth and grand scale of this genocide becomes apparent.

Remarkably, Zalmen had the foresight to bury his manuscripts in cans in places he presumed would be excavated after renovation. Throughout, he speaks to those of us that are free to seek revenge for his brothers and sisters. He really is speaking beyond the grave.

A very important book.

[CloudsJen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Warning- reading this book will change a piece of you. Do not undertake this reading lightly.
I will start off by saying that I have read Holocaust books for 20+ years, and I have read at least 100 personal accounts of the Holocaust from Europe and Eastern Europe.

These manuscripts written by Zalmen Gradowski, a Sonderkommando prisoner at Auschwitz (those who were forced to work the gas chambers and crematoria, stand apart from them all.

Many accounts that we have access to are post-war interviews, oral histories, and diaries that usually cut off at the time of capture. Memories.

These manuscripts are written as Zalmen Gradowski is working in the gas chambers, so the painful, agonizing details (especially in the second manuscript) are so shockingly vivid that you will see the Czech transport that he describes from beginning to end. Every time you close your eyes, you will see the women in this transport. That is how vividly he is able to describe the women.

Zalmen went into Auschwitz with a skill for writing, and it shows in his manuscripts. The fact that he and the other Sonderkommando made it a priority to write everything down in secret as it was happening, cover for each other, and ultimately hide manuscripts throughout Auschwitz is a testament to their understanding of how the Nazis could have hidden a portion of their crimes given the time. By stealing teeth instead of grinding them fine and sprinkling them in many different areas, they understood the critical importance of leaving clues for us- "free citizens of the world".

Finally, the end will be abrupt, as he realizes his time is up and needs to bury the manuscript, and although we know the probable ending to his life, the abrupt end stings and leaves us hollow and changed- just as he warned us on the first page.

This book is hard to find in the US. You can order the English translation from Auschwitz Birkenau Museum for a reasonable price. It took less than 3 weeks to arrive.

[Fra Cesko · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ero indeciso se mettere stelline a questo libro, nel senso di dargli una "valutazione numerica". E sono anche in difficoltà nel dire qualcosa, quindi mi limito ad un paio di osservazioni che potrebbero essere utili a chi stesse valutando se leggerlo o meno.
Importante leggere la prefazione dove si viene ben avvisati che il libro (quasi tutto) ha un tono evocativo, romantico e celebrativo... che secondo me uno non si aspetta, io non mi aspettavo. E nonostante fossi stato avvisato e mi fossero state date delle possibili spiegazione di questo taglio stilistico (appunto nella prefazione o introduzione che fosse)... la cosa si faceva notare ancora.
L'autore, che appunto si profonde nelle atmosfere di cui sopra, in 3/4 occasioni descrive invece più "cronisticamente" gli eventi che accadono, e in questi momenti ci consente effettivamente (come io mi attendevo) di approfittare dei suoi occhi e orecchie per rendersi conto, il più possibile, di cosa sia successo.
Queste le 2 osservazioni.

[Edward Janes · Rating 5 out of 5]

“From The Heart Of Hell”, a manuscript written by Zalmen Gradowski in Birkenau. This read was so disturbing, even after reading almost 100 books on the Holocaust, I had to stop and take a long break. Please read this synopsis through to the end; and please read this important work.
Zalman Gradowski had a “job” in Birkenau; it was unlike any job ever conceived in history--¬prior to Nazism. Gradowski was a Sonderkommando (special squad) slave required to assist those destined for the gas; Sonderkommando were forced to undress fellow Jewish prisoners; escort them into gas chambers; after their murder, shorn their hair; remove their gold teeth, burn their bodies, pulverize their bones and scatter their ashes to cover up the crime.
Gradowski knew he would not survive so he started another job; documenting what he was witnessing in Birkenau at the gas chambers and crematorium. Recognized as a gifted writer, other Sonderkommando sacrificed to provide him the time and materials needed to write; his manuscript of the extermination process, buried near crematoria II and found after the war, became part of what later was to become known as “The Scrolls of Auschwitz”. This is a shattering and staggering work, one that takes the reader to the edge of the murder process, only worsened by the tortured humiliations forced upon the never ending supply of blameless victims. On page 24 we read about a transport in Grodno being herded to a camp.
“Come my friend, today a transport is due to arrive. Let us go out to the road leading to the camp. Come, let us stand to the side, so as better to observe the terrible, gruesome scene. Do you see my friend, there in the distance? On the gleaming white road, barely moving, is a black mass, surrounded by tall black shadows which keep bending towards the crawling mass and delivering blows to deeply bowed heads. It is hard to make out what this mass consists of. Are they cattle being driven, or humans who have shrunk to half their size? But see, they are drawing closer to us. Alas, it is a mass of thousands upon thousands of Jews, young and old, on their way to their new home. They are not walking, but crawling on all fours, as they were ordered to do by the young miscreant who holds their lives and existence in his hand. He wanted to see this dreadful scene with his own eyes, a huge mass of human beings turned into animals. He sought to sate his sadistic, bloodthirsty heart with emotions of human torment and suffering. Now see how, having crawled a long distance, they get to their feet, tottering like drunkards, broken and exhausted, and are forced to sing and dance for the amusement of their escorts.”
Enroute to Auschwitz, Gradowski captures a moment of deep despair (page 40), when guards deny even flecks of what might have been restorative snow to the transport:
“In another wagon, the feverish cries of grown children are heard, as they try to help their mother, who was unable to hold out any longer and is lying unconscious. They struggle to revive her by artificial means until she finally opens her eyes. A great joy for them in the midst of all the misery, their weak mother is restored to life. Her children had taken fright, thinking they were about to lose her and be left motherless in the world. Some bold people with strong nerves knock on the windows and ask the guards to help by at least throwing in some of the snow lying beside the tracks. Cynical chuckling is heard from those savage brutes. In reply, they point to the loaded guns ready for anyone who tries to open the windows. It’s awful! There, outside the windows, the people can see a white mass of moisture, snow which could revive their exhausted hearts and refresh their wilting bodies, bringing in … so much consolation, and so much happiness. It can bring a wave of life to the dead wagons. That white mass can save two thousand five hundred people from the clutches of a dreadful death from despairing hearts. And how close it is, right in front of you. Its whiteness gleams and its magic taunts you. How awful. You need only open the window to reach it with your hand. The white mass seems to come alive, to rise up towards us. It can see how we look at it, urging it upwards, it can feel how we long for it, and it wants to comfort and revive us. But there stands the cruel bandit with the fixed bayonet on his shoulder, and answers with the single dreadful word: No. He will not allow it. Nothing can move him, not the pleading of women, nor the weeping of the children. He is deaf and rigid. All draw back from the windows in resignation, averting their gaze from the alluring whiteness. They sink back into deep melancholy thoughts and pierce the deathly silence with heartrending groans.”
On the dehumanization of tattooing (page 54):
“The hungry new arrivals are given some food. They receive some momentary relief. They have partly assuaged their bodily needs. Now the tattooing begins. Each is given a number. From that moment on, you have lost your identity. Your human self has been turned into a number. You are no longer the man who once existed. Today you are a meaningless, worthless, walking number… A hundred such numbers are created and taken to their new homes.”
On the sufferings of food deprivation (page 61)
“Hunger takes the broken-spirited, exhausted men in its grip. Hunger, the tormenter, the pitiless enemy, who is immune to sorrow…always demands his due.... The ruthless stomach … takes no account of grief and sorrow.”
The chapter titled “The Boxes” chronicles, using a dream mechanism, the last moments of Gradowski’s beloved family (page 93)
“They felt their dearest, most precious ones with whom they had been, whom they were holding in their arms, being taken from them… And they are torn from them with savage cruelty; men with terrifying, piercing glances and faces like wild criminals, armed with pistols and rifles, have come to take them away. He begs, cries, shouts, but no one hears him, and he runs away…. And a few minutes later, he sees them naked. His mother, father, sisters and brothers, his wife pressing her baby to her breast, all are driven from a wooden barrack and herded over the ice cold ground. A gust of wind whips their naked bodies. They shiver from fear and cold, weep and cry, casting scattered glances in all directions, but cannot stand still even for a moment. Savage dogs howl, throw themselves at them, biting and tearing their flesh. Here with his sharp teeth a dog has torn the child from his mother’s breast and drags it across the ground. Screams and calls for help rend the heavens. Mothers beat their heads with their fists. A diabolic game with naked women, men and children is being played out on this infernal ground, led by dogs driven by men in military uniforms, with whips and clubs in their hands. Amidst the terrible chaos and chilling screams, he hears a familiar voice. He sees his dear, beloved mother lying on the ground and his dear sisters standing around her, crying and trying in vain to lift her. And now a man with a club in his hand runs up to his sisters and mother and beats them over the head. Enraged, he tosses and turns, wants to run and save them, but he cannot.
A moment later, a shudder runs through his entire body: he hears the dear tender voice of his wife with his child in her arms who has fallen into the water and now lies there on the cracked ice crying for help, and near her stands well dressed strangers who drag her by the hands like some dead thing as the child chokes in the icy water, while all around laughing men hold their dogs by the leash, smiling cynically as if this were all a show. He wishes he could pull himself away, run over to his drowning wife and child, take them in his arms, escape somewhere with them, dress them in warm clothes—but he is shackled in place, his hands and feet bound, and cannot move.
Over there, far away, he sees them all: his father, brothers, sisters. His mother lies here on the cold cement, his sisters hold her head in their hands and kiss her, his father cries, his brothers cry, and where is she, his wife with his child, he looks for them and now sees her lying stretched out on the ground with his child, and a man stands over her with a pistol in hand, preparing to shoot. He shouts wildly, bellows like a wounded animal. His comrade lying next to him is woken by his cries and shakes him from his slumber. He lies there, bewildered, panting….”
And on page 95 Gradowski follows with this incredible survivor’s guilt narrative written under unimaginable circumstances:
“The night, the kind and generous night had given him back his home, his father and mother, sisters and brothers, wife and child. And there you see him now—he who by day is a sad, resigned, broken shadow, you see him lying there, carefree, content and smiling, for he is with his family. They are all there: his father and mother, sisters and brothers—even his brothers, who had been away on a journey, are there. And he sits, together with his wife and child, the entire family at festively set tables—eating, singing, laughing, telling jokes. And he, the young father, plays lightheartedly with his child who jumps and dances all over him. Everyone is happy and content. Today is a holiday for them at home. A jovial mood reigns, all are borne aloft on the waves of a care-free life. Suddenly the sweet, warm sound of a woman’s voice is heard: his wife bursts into song, a lyrical song that penetrates the heart, soul and limbs. All are carried away by the sweet melody, and already, the harmonies of choral song resound. On the wings of these sweet sounds they soar to higher, fantastic realms. And he is so happy, so content. A new, fantastic world has opened up to him.
Suddenly, in the midst of song, he hears a sound, wakes with a start—the camp bell is ringing the reveille. He remains lying, bewildered, as if unconscious. Where is he? Was it just a dream? Their faces still hover before his eyes, he hears their carefree laughter. In his hands he still feels the warmth of his child he has been pressing to his heart just a moment ago. His wife had just been telling him something, he can still recall the subject of their carefree, familial conversation. Was it only a dream? And they, his father and mother, sisters and brothers, wife and child—have long since vanished from this world—have long since burned. And he alone has remained in this world of hell. Lonely, forlorn, solitary, broken. Ah, why, for what purpose had the gong woken him? If only he could remain in this idyllic dream forever—asleep. He would die a happy death.”
On life and Shabbat services before the war and then, Shabbat “in the heart of hell.”
“Occasionally you long for the ‘pleasure’ of withdrawing into your own world, of reliving that which once was, of swimming back down the current of bygone days to the remote past, holding yourself for as long as you can on the surface of your former life, your former happiness, to then submerge into the bottomless chasms of my infernal world. To snatch a ray of light from the luminous sun of the past and descend with it into the abyss, to see the horror of the boundless misery in which we are sinking… Then I would run over there to that shore, that corner where several dozen Jews would stand praying in holy piety; there I would draw in the light, capture a spark with which to escape my box. Its warmth would melt the frozenness that gripped my heart, and I would have a happy Shabbat eve. I would be carried off on the stormy waves of my vanished years, and when I arrived back on this shore, my Shabbat of today, my heart dissolved into tears. I had so long yearned to see, with my mind’s eye, my dear, loving mother, my good father in his holiday mood, my dear sisters and brothers and my dear wife busting with song, to spend Shabbats of joy and carefree contentment together, and then, to mourn them. To mourn my family, my most loved, dearest ones who are gone forever. To mourn my Shabbats that will never, never return; to mourn my misery which I have only now sensed and felt.”
The chapter titled “The Czech Transport” (page 109) starts with this:
“Dear reader, I write these words in the moments of my greatest despair. I do not know, I do not believe that I will live to read these lines again, ‘after the storm.’ … I will be happy if my writings reach you, free citizen of the world. Perhaps a spark of my inner fire will ignite in you, and you will fulfill at least part of our life’s desire: you shall avenge, avenge our deaths!
Dear finder of these pages!
I have a request to make of you. This is the real reason why I write—that my condemned life may attain some meaning, that my hellish days and hopeless tomorrows may find some purpose in the future.
I have a personal request to make of you, dear finder and publisher of these pages: … find out who I am. Ask my relatives for a photograph of my family, and one of my wife and me, and print them in this book at your discretion. In this way I wish to immortalize the dear beloved names of those for whom I cannot, at present, even shed a tear. For I live in the hell of death, and cannot even assess, as would be proper, the enormity of my loss. For I myself have been condemned to death; and can the dead mourn the dead? But you, unknown ‘free’ citizen of the world, you I implore: shed a tear for them…. I dedicate all my writings to them: this is my tear, my lament for my family and my people.
Here I wish to list the names of my family:
Sore (mother), Libe (sister), Ester Rokhl (sister), Sonia (wife), Refoel (father in law), Wolf (brother in law).
They were killed on December 8, 1942 – gassed and burned.
My fate I can sense from the present reality. I know the day approaches, the day before which my heart and soul tremble; not out of fear for life—although ¬¬¬¬I wish to live, for the desire for life is unrelenting, but one moment of life alone remains that leaves me no peace: live, live for revenge!”

Gradowski’s manuscript is about 150 pages; one third of those pages, are a section, “The Czech Transport”, are unsurpassed in bringing the reader into the killing factory. Candidly, this subject matter is so disturbing it has taken months for my normal sleep pattern to resume. I read this chapter again and again and believe it to be the most heart-rending collection of words I have ever read. For the world, this should be required reading, so all would know what happened. A few excerpts follow;
(Page 125) “They tore the families apart, women here, men there, the old here, the young there, luring them into the trap, into the empty neighboring camp; they tricked them, the naïve victims, led them, group by group, to the cold wooden barracks, and nailed the doors shut with boards”.
(Page 126) “When we reached the square of the great hell, Crematorium I, they were already there, the p

[Maurizio Manco · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Colui che sta sull'orlo della tomba, quello sono io." (p. 57)

[Rafael Toledo Plata · Rating 5 out of 5]

La contraportada no se queda corta al decir que se trata de un relato estremecedor. Creo que la principal razón de esto, se debe a que el libro fue escrito por un prisionero, quién se encargó de narrar lo que él en carne propia estaba viviendo. Así, se está ante un relato que no tiene ningún sesgo histórico. Por el contrario, se trata de una narración bastante (dolorosamente) precisa.

Desde la óptica literaria, es un libro que demuestra la vena de escritor que tenía Zalmen Dradowski. Sus metáforas con la luna, la noche y las estrellas. La forma como crea la escena de forma precisa y como utiliza un lenguaje cotidiano para narrar los horrores que él y lo demás prisioneros vivían.

Una verdadera joya que la gente debería leer para entender sin apasionamientos históricos, los horrores que se vivieron en Auschwitz-Birkenau y que seguramente se replicaron en diferentes campos de concentración Nazi.

[Hilary Rigato · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Sonderkommando: Diario di un crematorio di Auschwitz, 1944" di Salmen Gradowski
221 pagine

«I membri del Sonderkommando erano al servizio della morte per quattro mesi. Poi con matematica precisione, erano mandati a morte»

Salmen Gradowski è un ebreo polacco, nato nel 1909, deportato ad Auschwitz nel dicembre del 1942. Viene assegnato ai Sonderkommando di Birkenau, al servizio dei bunker e dei crematori e ucciso dai nazisti il 7 ottobre 1944, dopo la rivolta da parte della squadra speciale.
Durante la prigionia scrive alcuni testi in lingua yiddish seopellendoli poi nel terreno di Birkenau e ritrovati a seguito della liberazione del campo.
I rotoli ritrovati vengono tradotti solo alla fine degli anni 70, per porre fine al silenzio sulla questione dei Sonderkommando, per portare alla luce ciò che accadeva nella fabbrica della morte di Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Raccolti in questo libro sono preceduti da una lunga introduzione che spiega chiaramente, e con toni forti, i compiti che i Sonderkommando dovevano svolgere all'interno del campo e il ruolo che hanno avuto, costretti, nell'eliminazione dei propri amici e parenti. Erano scelti tra i prigionieri più giovani e robusti per lavorare nella fase finale e terminale in quella catena di morte che purtroppo ormai tutti conosciamo. Ricevevano un trattamento d'eccezione ma con il più terribile compito. Solo una piccolissima manciata dei componenti della squadra speciale riuscirono però ad uscire vivi dal campo per poter portare la testimonianza delle atrocità viste e vissute.
L'introduzione ci aiuta anche ad avere una spiegazione dei manoscritti, sull'ordine del loro ritrovamento, sulla cronologia in cui sono stati scritti. L'autore infatti prima di ogni manoscritto si rivolge direttamente al lettore e, prima di raccontare la sua storia, fa più volte la stessa preghiera: ritrovare i suoi parenti, contattarli e riuscire a far pubblicare le sue parole.

"Ogni ebreo morto – è un passo in più verso la vittoria."

Uno stile crudo, vero, a tratti poetico, nel raccontare la vita al campo. Dal doversi dividere dai propri familiari e dai propri affetti, alla malinconia e la paura provata. Fino alla marcia verso al bunker per la gassazione, la svestizione, le rivolte dei prigionieri, fino alla morte. La marea umana nella sua nudità. Sono descritti nei minimi dettagli tutti i passaggi, la riapertura delle porte del bunker, il taglio dei capelli, l'estrazione dei denti, lo sciacallaggio dei gioielli. Fino al crematorio.
Si percepisce la paura, il bisogno di vendetta, la solitudine, la malinconia, l'isolamento opprimente e la totale desolazione. Si percepisce il clima perennemente teso e di allerta e la crudeltà degli uomini e delle donne delle SS.
Sono immagini nitide, quelle che vengono trasmesse al lettore, crude e forti.
Il senso di colpa, il disumanuzzarsi, il diventare come automi per sopravvivere.
Sicuramente una lettura non facile. Una lettura che va fatta un po' alla volta, perché la pesantezza avvolge come un mantello opprimente e fa provare un bisogno d'aria costante. Costretta a leggere non più di un paio di capitoli alla volta, per poi dedicarmi ad altro, incapace di continuare la lettura, con i brividi in tutto il corpo.
Sicuramente una testimonianza da ascoltare in modo attento, da portare dentro, per non dimenticare, per rendersi conto di ciò che è veramente successo all'interno dei campi.
Una lettura che consiglio, nonostante non sia una passeggiata tra pascoli fioriti.
Mi son chiesta più volte come fare questa recensione, per riuscire a trasmettere ciò che ho provato. Ma sono sempre più convinta che non avendo vissuto quelle stesse atrocità le parole siano impossibili da trovare.
Mi ha colpito molto la presenza costante della luna, la sua figura malinconica che crea sensazioni contrastanti nell'autore di questi scritti. Dall'amarla, al dedicarle quasi poesie, a cercarvi conforto, all'odiarla per il suo modo di essere così luminosa in un posto pieno di ombre e distruzione e desolazione.
Una lettura non facile ma doverosa.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

[bookishlycaffenaited · Rating 5 out of 5]

Come with me, with the wretched, lonely, surviving child of the People of Israel, who was torn from his home and, together with his family, friends and acquaintances, found temporary refuge in damp tombs, was taken from there to a supposed labour concentration camp, and arrived in the great Jewish graveyard. And there I was assigned by the devils to guard the gates of hell, through which have passed and are still passing millions of Jews from all over Europe. I was with each of them as they stood, I stayed with them to the last, and they entrusted me with the last secret of their lives.

This should be mandatory reading in schools, book clubs etc., and needs the attention that Night and The Diary of Anne Frank receives.

I cannot even begin to describe this reading experience. I took time with it due to its blunt and harrowing writing style, which was expressed so beautifully and melancholically.

Gradowski's tremendous vigor to document his experience, despite the risks, and to expose one of the most horrific atrocities committed by man in modern history, is nothing short of remarkable.

His prophetic, poetic prose, his sorrow and anger at the state of humanity is just astounding. Gradowski does not hold back in describing exactly what he witnessed, and his horrific job. His anger at people and their choices, rather than God, is what really stands out, as he offers no shred or sense of forgiveness, no optimistic approach to the world - and I don't blame him. His depiction of Jewish suffering in the camp, as well as Jewish resistance, is both infuriating and inspiring. He implores you to remember, to appreciate your freedom, and to avenge these merciless deaths of millions of innocents. This is an unforgettable, must, must read.

[Deirdre · Rating 3 out of 5]

Libro-testimonio que fue escrito dentro del campo de concentración de Auschwitz por Zalmen Gradowski, quien vio y fue testigo de lo que ocurrió en los crematorios. Escribió dos copias, que componen el libro, y las enterró dentro del mismo campo de concentración para ser descubiertas tiempo después.

Es un testimonio duro, descriptivo. Cuenta, con toda la crudeza, lo que él vio en las cámaras de gas y en el proceso del crematorio en los hornos, pues era uno de los encargados, siendo también prisionero judío.
No ahorra detalles que ponen los pelos de punta. Quería dejar constancia de ese horror, de que se supiese la verdad, y también, y eso es una constante, de quiénes habían sido sus familiares, de sus nombres (para que no se olviden) y de su propio nombre: Zalmen Gradowsky, que insiste en decirlo una y otra vez como si, al repetir su nombre, intentase no perder la cordura en la locura que le tocó vivir, y gritarle al mundo que él existió una vez y que lo que vio pasó en realidad.

No es un libro fácil de leer. No hay sonrisas que dibujar.

Como todos los libros que tocan este tema, es mejor no opinar de más, sino, con todo mi respeto, dar constancia de que este libro está ahí para quien quiera conocer sus palabras.

[Lis · Rating 2 out of 5]

Una testimonianza importante, dura (agghiacciante la descrizione di come brucia un corpo umano in un forno), ma scritta in modo troppo romanzato (quasi poetico) per essere un racconto di questo tipo

[busyreadingwithASD⋆.ೃ࿔*:･]

This was absolutely devastating. I think this one of the most important accounts people should read, especially if the reader is not Jewish. The job of Sonderkommando is disturbing in itself (those were Jewish men designated to peal the heaps of gassed bodies off of each other and drag them to the crematoria, where they recognized their babies, wives, fathers, mothers, friends, etc). One of the most disturbing parts of Gradowski's account is where he talks about the cattle car of Jews who were freezing cold naked and knew that they were going into the gas chambers. Here, he talks about adult brothers and sisters who awkwardly hug and kiss one another. They are naked about to be marched into ovens together, but they are still, for lack of a better term, shy, because they are naked in front of their sibling. It's devastating. The other part that was particularly sickening was the men and women looking for their spouses to that they could be gassed together before they're marched in. Gradowski literally sees a husband and wife try to get to each other, but they're so lost in the crowd that they can't find each other in time. Gradowski was murdered, as were all of his family members, including his wife. May their memories be a blessing.

[Eve · Rating 5 out of 5]

A contemporaneous account of life in Auschwitz. It ought to be required reading for every human being. Zalmen Gradowski explores what it feels like and what it means to be the subject of deportation, selection, and extermination. He explains how the opium of illusions led people to the door of extermination. The books is composed of several manuscripts he secretly wrote and buried separately on the grounds of the death camp, it is interspersed with six separate pleas tha this words should be published as a warning to the world, along with a portrait of his family, so that their faces will be saved from eradication. If more people read this perhaps the world could summon itself to stop genocide

[Michelle]

This is the manuscript from a Jewish man during his imprisonment in two concentration camps that he buried underground in hopes someone would find it one day. This was translated as is and some words are missing. I had to take several breaks from reading this because I would get physically ill. While this was incredibly difficult to read, this should be required reading and will stay with me forever.

[Nicholas · Rating 5 out of 5]

Words in my oral vocabulary feel insufficient to describe the content of this book. This book is a cry across time - not only to remember, but to remain vigilant. We owe it to him, his family, and to the millions whose voices were silcened, to listen.

Reading it, I truly felt as if Zalmen Gradowski was communicating directly from the grave - speaking not only to me, but to all of us as citizens of the free world. As a stranger I shed a tear - not only for him and his beloved family, whom he mentions time and again, but for what, and whom, he so heroically represents.

Looking at the photograph of him and his wife, and later learning in the text that it was his wish for it to be published together with the two manuscripts and a letter - written from the very heart of hell in Auschwitz, where he buried these documents before losing his life.

What he created is not merely a letter or a manuscript. It is art. It is testimony. It is witness. And it is written in a way that allows you to feel his brave heart on the page — at times concrete and realistic, driven by the urgent need to document the horrors of the crematoria and the camps; at other times, it becomes an escape, a dream, a lyrical masterpiece, a fragile song maybe offering him a split-second of relief and strength before confronting, once again, the unthinkable reality around him.

[Terminus Best · Rating 5 out of 5]

While it has been said by others (such as Dara Horn) , I think it bears repeating: If you read one book on the Shoah, this is it


This is also published in English from University of Chicago Press under "The last consolation vanished" which includes a final two page chapter from Gradowskis manuscript which is not present in this edition so I personally think the "Last consolation" edition is slightly better.

[Devorah · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is not a book one wants to read. And yet it should be done. This book will help clarify for the modern reader what ‘genocide’ really looks like. The word is abused and misused by many and devalues what is really happening to a particular group of people. May the Jewish people be avenged by living good and healthy lives.

[Jola]

This book has been recommended to me by an Auschwitz guide, during my visit. It is the most real account of Auschwitz I've ever read, full of emotions, as the author wrote it when he was a prisoner in Auschwitz, working in gas chambers. The language he uses is poetic, very unusual for camp literature.

[Lisa Shearer · Rating 5 out of 5]

A must read. Written by Zalmen Gradowski, a Sonnderkommando who worked the crematoria. He did not survive Auschwitz. We have these testimonies because he buried them among the ashes of the victims. Very moving, as he begs the reader to remember his family and avenge their deaths. The last pages, when he knows his death is near are heart wrenching.

[El]

No rating because frankly feel it would be weird to rate this. An honour to read this book, I am glad it survived to tell Zalmen Gradowski's tale, along with those imprisoned and murdered alongside him.

[Stefania · Rating 3 out of 5]

"Avvicinati, vieni qui, felice cittadino del mondo, che abiti in un Paese in cui esistono ancora la felicità, la pace e la gioia. Ti racconterò come criminali moderni e abietti hanno trasformato la felicità di un popolo in un inferno, e la gioia in una tristezza infinita[...] "

[Buns Buns]

The Czech Transport chapter is truly remarkable testimony. i remember when i was visiting Auschwitz and mostly what I was thinking was like oh I’m so fucking glad we have evidence for this shit. because what the fuck man. to this day i still cannot lol haha. just wow☺️

[Steve Dymond · Rating 5 out of 5]

Heartrending description of conditions within a Nazi death camp. A terrible story of the depths that humanity can sink to. Possibly the most moving testament describing the Holocaust I have ever read.

[Ted · Rating 5 out of 5]

Must read

Very poetic at times. Sad at others. It is one of those books that will forever change your perspective on life, freedom and faith.

[Lora · Rating 5 out of 5]

The final letter is particularly gutting.

[Sadie Iddenden · Rating 5 out of 5]

No numbers, photographs and statistics prepare you for the heart wrenching nature of this book

[lauren petty · Rating 5 out of 5]

So breathtakingly sad. No words

[Ciomma · Rating 5 out of 5]

Una testimonianza straordinaria

[Je · Rating 2 out of 5]

Non è che potesse essere una lettura piacevole ma anche l'apparato critico è migliorabile. Necessario.

[Carlos Martínez · Rating 3 out of 5]

Libro muy bueno y recomendable. Para mí le baja la nota una edición y traducción poco cuidada. Muchas erratas inexplicables que desmerecen a un testimonio necesario de lo que pasó en Auschwitz

[Daniele Emma · Rating 3 out of 5]

Non quello che mi aspettavo, ma cmq un buon libro per capire.